“And that drives you crazy, doesn’t it?” There was no malice in her voice. She delivered the words like she’d read a grocery list. Nic felt exposed and raw as Belle circled her slowly. “You’re panicking, but not because of the lies you told us both. You know I could forgive a lie, an indiscretion. You’re terrified I’ll find out you really do love her.”
“No, Belle. I love you. You have to believe that.”
“I do believe that.”
“Thank God.” Nic reached for her, in her relief, but Belle stepped back.
“But you love her, too, and more importantly, you don’t love either of us as much as you love yourself. I’ve been over and over it in my mind, trying to figure out what I could’ve done differently, but I worshipped you. I gave up big parts of myself to love you more completely. Maybe that was a mistake. Perhaps I should’ve been harder on you, more demanding, but I didn’t have it in me to love you any less.”
“Please don’t.” Her chest constricted at the reminder of what her actions had done to the woman she loved. This second-guessing, the doubt, the distrust, they wouldn’t disappear even if she got another chance. The scars might fade, but they’d never disappear. She hated herself for wounding Belle and worked quickly to stop the bleeding now before it took any more out of her. “You’re perfect. I’m a fool, but if you don’t believe anything else, you have to believe you’re everything I need, everything I want. I love you more than anything.”
“That’s not true. You love a contest, a fight, a chance to prove yourself to anyone, even yourself.”
“Belle, please—”
She raised her hand and Nic fell silent.
“You also love your image, your drive, your aspirations, and I loved that about you too, until I understood I haven’t just been sharing the number-one spot in your life.”
“Belle, you are the most important thing in my life. You’re my everything.”
“No, there’s something you love more, and not just another woman. If it was just a woman I could fight, and I could win, but I’m not really up against Davis. She and I shared second place to your ego or your ambition or something else inside of you that you can’t let go of.” She shook her head, and for the first time sadness seemed to overtake all her other emotions. “I can’t win that war.”
The doors were closing. Even the signs of her pain receded behind this wall Annabelle was building between them. Nic watched helplessly as another brick slid into place. She didn’t know what to say. Maybe it was already too late and there was nothing she could say.
“You loved her because of what she told you about yourself, and I’m not even sure what that was.” Annabelle stopped, and for a second she was somewhere else. Nic watched her detach, a slight blush rising in her previously ashen skin before she shook her head. “But I have my suspicions about what you found so hard to resist.”
What did she suspect? The possibilities sickened her, but she had no right to ask what had transpired between them. She had to concentrate on what happened right now between her and Belle. “I don’t know what you know about her, and I don’t care. You’re everything that matters to me.”
“No, I might represent everything that matters to you, but I, me, not the image but the real person, didn’t matter enough to keep you from doing what you did.” She continued her slow circle, her eyes now an impenetrable shade of blue Nic had never seen before. “If you really loved me most of all, nothing in the world could’ve tempted you to risk what we had, and if you really loved her the way she thought you did, you would’ve chosen her over me and had the respect to say so.”
“You’re wrong, Belle. You’re hurt and I understand, but don’t do something out of pain that we can’t undo.” She turned on every ounce of charm she had left, but it was laced with fear and the fringes of desperation. Their past flashed though her mind, and she grabbed for anything that might anchor them together. “We’re better than anyone else ever gave us credit for. I know it will take time, but we can get back to that. Please, please don’t give up on us.”
Belle sighed, her shoulders sagging. “I’ve tried so hard. For hours I’ve worked to envision a future for us, a way to move past this, to move forward. I want that, Nic. I think I probably want that even more than you do, but I just don’t trust you. And if I can’t trust you to do the right thing when so much is at stake, I don’t know how I’d ever be able to trust you about anything ever again.”
“No.” Nic sobbed as she sank to her knees, frantic and pleading. She’d never begged for anything in her life, but she didn’t hesitate now. “Please, Belle, I’ll do anything. Please, just don’t walk out the door.”
“I promised I’d always love you, Nic, and I will. Until the day I die you’ll have a piece of my heart, but I’ll never again give you all of it. We both deserve better.” Her voice cracked, for the first time revealing a hint at the same crush of emotion currently choking Nic. “I’ll be back tomorrow to pack our things. We have a new set of challenges ahead. If you really do love me, you’ll apply your trademark drive to helping us get through them as easily as possible.
She nodded, incapable of anything other than sobs. Belle had resigned herself to this decision, and she was asking Nic to do the same. They were finished. The best thing she’d ever had was walking away, and Nic couldn’t stop her. She’d failed them both, and the weight of that realization crashed down on her. She waited for the sound of the door closing behind Belle before she collapsed completely. She sank all the way to the floor, curled into a ball, and surrendered to her desolation.
Chapter Ten
Nic hadn’t slept more than a few minutes at a time. Mostly she’d spent the night wandering around the house, reliving the memories they’d made there. She’d turned the stove off and on several times to hear the soft whoosh of the gas flame ignite, even though there’d be no more meals for her and Belle to share. She’d climbed the stairs to the bedroom and looked around their room. It smelled like Belle, the subtle mix of jasmine and Dove soap. Her things were set out neatly on her dresser, diamond earrings she’d bought her when she got her first job next to a gold clip she loved to unfasten from her long, beautiful hair. Her chest ached, and tears stung her eyes. She’d never touch her again, never undress her, never feel Belle’s body against her own, never lead her to the bed and gently lay her down. Belle would never again look at her with that awe-inspiring mix of love and trust that made her feel invincible.
She quickly closed the door and retreated down the hall before her grief overtook her again. She stopped briefly by the guest room, placing her hand against the doorknob, but she’d find no peace there. She knew the dreams Belle had held for that room. Dreams of a baby, of a family, had filled the space since the day they’d moved in. She’d robbed Belle of the future she’d promised. Those dreams were dead, and she had no right to mourn them. She’d been ambivalent at best, and at worst actually inhibiting, but still she ached for the unrealized possibilities between them. Even if she had been uncertain about her own desire or ability to parent, Belle would make the most beautifully amazing mother any child could ask for. Nic would’ve liked to see her in that role. Why did it take the death of that dream for her to realize how wonderful it might have been to see it fulfilled?
As the sun finally peeked over the horizon, she went ahead and started a large pot of coffee. She hadn’t eaten anything for nearly twenty-four hours, and her stomach showed no sign of stabilizing, but she needed to fortify herself for the gut-wrenching task ahead. How did you divide up thirteen years’ worth of memories? Would they sort through the mementos of their trips? What about photographs of their best days? Was she entitled to any of them after what she’d done? Would Belle want them anymore? Would she ever be able to remember anything about them beyond how it ended?
Oh, God, this is the end. Nic sank into a dining-room chair and rested her head against the cold oak table. She wanted to believe she still had a chance. Maybe she could court Belle again the way she had i
n college and slowly win her over. She would wait, gladly even if she thought she had a chance, but the resolve she’d witnessed in Belle last night seemed so hauntingly final. The cool detachment with which she’d studied her and the emotionless summation of her distrust offered nothing but a crushing finality.
Belle had never cut her off in the entire time they’d known each other. Even in their worst disagreements, she’d still melted into Nic’s touch. The impenetrable resolve she’d witnessed last night was something she’d seen her use only on strangers. Was that how she saw Nic now? A stranger? The pain in her chest surged again, disrupting her lethargy. Every time she thought she’d hit the bottom of the hurt, she found another layer below it.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Nic rose to answer it, wondering if Belle really believed she had to announce her presence in their home, but as she swung open the door she was jarred out of her musing not by the sight of Belle, but of her father.
Nic was a tall woman who’d never stepped down from any man, any man other than Buddy Taylor. She respected him immensely, but that respect was laced with a healthy dose of fear. He was everything her own father had never been. Strong, powerful, and capable, he exuded confidence in himself and inspired it in everyone around him. He ran his business and his household with a heavy hand, a watchful eye, and a reputation for brutal honesty. He was the kind of man many were proud to call a friend, and even his adversaries had to admire him at least a little. His physique didn’t hurt his almost mythical image either. Even in his mid-sixties he looked the part of a true cowboy with sharply creased jeans, a barrel chest, and deep-set blue eyes boring into her from under the brim of a brown Stetson. There had been a time when Nic had wanted nothing more than his approval. Today she would settle for anything other than his wrath.
“Nic,” he practically growled, “we need to talk.”
The blood drained from her face, but he wasn’t holding a gun, and she was pretty sure he wouldn’t strike a woman, even one he’d previously treated like one of the boys. “Yes, sir.”
She held open the door and tried not to look shaken. She’d put herself in this situation, and she wouldn’t win points by cowering. “Can I offer you any coffee?”
“No.” He removed his Stetson and pointed it toward the couch. “You can take a seat.”
Nic wordlessly did as told and looked up at him, awaiting her sentence.
He scanned her up and down, much the same way his daughter had the night before, but his gaze was neither cool nor detached. His eyes filled with a barely contained blaze of disappointment and disdain. She wondered which one he’d lead with, since even he seemed at a loss for words at the moment.
“I consider myself a good judge of character, but you made a fool of me. When I had to have this talk with Liz’s husband, I hurt for her. But I’d expected it all along, so I felt relieved to get it off my chest. But you,” he shook his head, “I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as let down by another human being as I do right now.”
Nic’s chest constricted and she hung her head. Few people’s opinions of her had ever mattered more than her own, and now she’d disappointed all of them.
“I trusted you with my daughter, and I thought you understood that responsibility. More importantly I thought you were up to the job, even though other people told me you weren’t. Aside from the gay thing.” The word “gay” seemed to stick in his throat. “I don’t pretend to understand that aspect, never have, but I judged you just as a person. I did my research on you early on. Folks told me you came from white trash.”
Nic winced. Would she never be free of her upbringing? Was failure in her DNA?
“I didn’t listen,” Buddy said. “Hell, I admired how you pulled yourself up by your bootstraps, and when you looked me in the eye and told me you loved and respected my daughter, I believed you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to trust someone with your baby girl?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No, you don’t,” he snapped, anger breaking his restraint and coloring his cheeks, “or you wouldn’t have abused that trust.”
“I know I failed her, failed all of us, and I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” he said, regaining a little bit of control. “Sorry doesn’t comfort her or keep her from crying all night on her sister’s shoulder. Sorry doesn’t save her mama the heartbreak of watching her daughter fall apart.”
Nic thought of Liz and Lila holding Belle, comforting her. Those strong, beautiful women she’d so proudly called her family would hate her now. People always said you didn’t just marry a bride, you married her whole family, and apparently betrayal worked the same way. Would she ever see them again? If so, it wouldn’t be around a holiday dinner table. She’d never watch the children she’d considered her niece and nephew grow up. None of their friends would ever look her in the eye again. They would close ranks around Belle and villainize her in the process. No, Nic had done this to herself.
“Yes, sir. You’re absolutely right. There’re no words to make up for what I did. I can’t even explain it to myself.” She remembered the passion with Davis, the pull of their desire, the way they burned each other up, but now her chest was on fire with a different kind of heat. The sting of shame singed every nerve ending. No amount of pleasure was worth the pain that consumed all of them now.
“I’m glad you recognize that. It’ll make this next part easier.”
She raised her eyebrows. Was this where he hit her? Part of her hoped he would. She’d prefer a physical punishment to the emotional beating she was taking.
“You’re going to pack your things, and I mean only your things, and you’re going to walk away. You’re going to leave everything to Belle, and whatever she doesn’t want, you’re going to sell and give her the money. You’re going to make sure she’s taken care of until she gets back on her feet.”
Nic didn’t have to. Everything was in her name—the house, the cars, the bank accounts. Her salary paid for all of it. Georgia had no legal provisions for lesbian divorces, much less for galimony payments. They weren’t talking about her legal responsibility, but her moral one. She deserved to pay, on every level, and she would. The money would be the easy part, and one night alone was enough to tell her she couldn’t live with the memories this house held. “Of course, whatever she wants.”
“You have a lawyer write up the paperwork, and I’ll have mine look over it.”
“Yes, sir.” Lawyers. No more handshakes. Her word was worthless now. Even when she willingly gave up her claim to everything she’d worked for, they still wouldn’t believe in her.
“And then, this is the big part, you’re going to walk away and stay gone.”
Nic froze. She’d agreed on every point up until the last one. She had done everything wrong, and she deserved to pay. She couldn’t and wouldn’t argue, but the idea of willingly walking out of Belle’s life was too much. Maybe it was the right thing to do, but it would be like amputating her own arm or leg. She didn’t think she was capable. If Belle threw her out that’d be one thing, but she couldn’t be the one to let go.
“Nic.” The warning in his voice was clear. “If you have a shred of respect for her, you won’t hold her back.”
“I only want the best for her.” She sighed, remembering the sight of Belle fainting from the sheer pain she’d inflicted on her. If agony was all she had to offer, she would force herself to sever ties, even if it meant cutting off the best parts of herself in the process. She only hoped she was strong enough to survive that kind of torture.
She finally met his steel-blue eyes. “I promise I won’t stand in her way, but if she contacts me I won’t be strong enough to deny her anything.”
A small muscle twitched at the side of his clenched jaw. “If you ever hurt her again, I will kill you.”
Nic shook her head. One mistake like this was hard enough to bear. “No, sir. If I ever hurt her again, I’ll do the job myself.”
*
Annabelle sighe
d when she saw her father’s pickup truck in her driveway. He’d left before she’d come downstairs that morning, and her mother would only say he had some chores to take care of. She’d had her suspicions what kind of chores and worried they involved a shotgun and a shovel.
She’d rushed Liz to get ready and even threatened to leave without her. She hadn’t really wanted anyone to come along today, but her overprotective family wasn’t comfortable with her going through this ordeal alone. She should have been grateful for their undying support, and maybe someday she would be, but right now she felt only pain. It clouded her vision, weighed on her limbs, and settled achingly in her chest. She wanted to lie down and let it swallow her, but not even sleep offered respite, because in the few hours she’d lain in bed, her dreams replayed an endless loop of both real and imagined images of Nic in Davis’s arms.
She’d made the decision to leave Nic, and it was the right one. She’d never trust her again, and she couldn’t build a relationship with someone she didn’t trust. She didn’t know how she’d face all the long, lonely nights ahead, so she tried not to think any further ahead than her next step.
If she let herself think about the dreams that wouldn’t come true, all the holidays she’d spend alone, all the mornings she’d wake up by herself, she’d collapse. Her behavior yesterday at Davis’s had frightened her. She’d been so overwhelmed she barely recognized herself. She simply couldn’t become that irrational again. She had to focus only on things within her immediate control, and right now that meant she had to face the challenge of dividing up their things. She just wanted this part to be over, and breaking up a fight between Nic and her father wouldn’t expedite the process or lessen the strain on her already frayed emotions.
“His Remington is still in the gun rack of the truck,” Liz said as they pulled into the driveway.
Does She Love You? Page 14